


Cookies For The Soul

by sunaddicted



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arkham Ain't No Holiday Resort, Arkham Asylum, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Presents, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 09:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: "Almonds and white chocolate chips cookies" Edward knew that the combination was a little too sweet for Oswald's tastes, who leaned towards more savoury flavours when looking around for a snack - but almonds packed a lot of calories and nutrients and the chocolate would help to cheer Oswald up a bit.





	Cookies For The Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small drabble based on a headcanon I posted on my Tumblr blog (I'm sunaddicted over there too, come and say hi!)

_Cookies For The Soul_

Edward sat down on the uncomfortable metallic chair and his fingers twisted the perfectly ironed fabric of his trousers, safe under the cover offered by the table which was small enough that his knees would have knocked together with Oswald's, hadn't he held his limbs rigidly tucked close to his body.

It seemed that nothing of the decor had changed since the last time he too had been in Arkham, despite the post-Strange overhaul the place had been through: it made him doubt whether it had been just a mediatic circus, fake news spread to reassure the bored and rich Gothamites that their money was being used to do good.

The truth was, nobody really cared about reality - only their good Samaritans images counted: for all they cared, the Rogues deserved to be used as little lab experiments and torture that, somewhere along the way from the asylum to the newspapers, was sold as therapy.

When he had heard the news, he hadn't believed it: how was it possible that someone like Oswald - a master when it came to balancing on the edge of the line between the most unsavoury aspects of his businesses, while he shoved under the spotlight the legal ones in a rather distracting manner - had made a mistake big enough to end back up in Arkham? Edward had honestly believed that Oswald had decided to briefly go under the radar, artfully pulling from the shadows the strings of the puppet he had put on his throne.

Then the pictures had started to appear on the newspapers - black and white shots of a pathetically soaked through man being shoved into one of the asylum vans, pinstriped jumpsuit hanging off of him like an emptied sack of potatoes - and the Narrows had started to be pervaded by a sort of horrifyingly nervous energy that scared Edward, whenever he stood on the ring and went through his comedy routine.

Oswald's most faithful lieutenants had managed to keep the empire from falling into chaos, one bullet and execution after the other - but Edward knew it couldn't last: every thug and crimelord Oswald had ever wronged restlessly scented the blood in the air, like sharks in a frenzy, ready to plunge the city back into chaos.

Edward had had enough of chaos: after the Maniax, the Tetch virus and the cruel whirlwind in his own mind, he had begrudgingly come to admire and respect the order the Penguin had managed to build in Gotham with his own two blood-stained hands and razor-sharp wit.

It certainly couldn't be said that Oswald didn't fight for his own causes, teeth and nails clawing bloody grooves in his enemies' hides.

"Came here to gloat?" Oswald's voice came hissing through his clenched tight jaws, barely audible over the clanking noise the handcuffs around his wrists - bruised a dark purple that complimented the fading dyed strands in his temples - made whenever they hit the metallic surface of the table.

 _No_ "Of course" the lie rolled down Edward's tongue as smoothly as riddles once had used to, even as he looked deeply into those red-ringed sea-green irises - the febricitant eyes mirroring the soul of a madman "How could I let such a chance pass up?"

Oswald blew a strand of hair - limp and dry, but clean at least - out of his forehead; he hadn't realised just how long he had let it grow in order to style it all spiked up on top of his head and, since hair spray and hairdryer weren't included in the commodities offered by Arkham, it often got in the way and made him look unkempt "Well, now you gawked and had a good laugh - get lost"

"I came bearing presents" Ignoring Oswald's hostile remark, Edward put on the table the paper bag he'd been carrying; he'd had to generously tip the guards for his presents to be admitted and had been forced to swap the tin in which he had put the biscuits for a some aluminium foil "They must be starving you and I doubt the rooms are any less drafty than the last time either of us stayed here"

"I don't need your charity" and he certainly didn't want it; Oswald pushed the paper bag a little, trying to get it away from him. Just the implication of something edible being in there, it had made his stomach twist painfully in hunger: he couldn't remember the last time he had had something to eat - the orderlies tended to forget about the patients in confinement and Oswald had spent the better part of the last week in isolation.

"It's not charity"

"Then, pray tell, what is it?"

Edward hadn't expected Oswald to protest that much - not after his spirit supposedly having been beat down by Arkham's discipline "We still have a score to settle" he offered as an explanation in the end, the motive sounding weak even to his own ears "I can't let Arkham do the job for me, can I?" He added with a grin, too wide.

"I wouldn't have been surprised if you decided for the cowardly way out" Oswald shrugged, tentatively tugging the bag closer again to peer inside it.

The purple sweater was of a shade so bright that, after weeks of the asylum muted colours, Oswald's eyes hurt at the welcomed sight as a shiver ran down his spine, almost as if his body already was savouring the warmth of the soft - and completely authentic, he had an eye for that sort of things - cashmere.

Then he recognised the subtle rustling of foil and his fingers delved in deeper, slightly shaking as they closed on the generously sized package "What's this?" Oswald didn't want to take anything out of the bag, knowing that any other prisoner in the room would have quickly spread the rumours of its contents and he'd have to fiercely protect them from thieving fingers.

"Almonds and white chocolate chips cookies" Edward knew that the combination was a little too sweet for Oswald's tastes, who leaned towards more savoury flavours when looking around for a snack - but almonds packed a lot of calories and nutrients and the chocolate would help to cheer Oswald up a bit.

"Will I need to use another inmate as a lab rat to make sure that you haven't poisoned them?" Oswald sniped but his words lacked the cutting edge they had at the beginning of their conversation: he was hungry, cold, sleep deprived and miserable - nothing sounded better than curl up on his cot, cuddling in the new sweater while he ate a biscuit or two. Especially if Edward had made them, as he suspected: he hadn't sampled the other's cooking that often but he knew from first-hand experience that Edward was a brilliant baker.

"The words you're looking for are 'thank you', I believe"

Oswald snorted and dumped the bag in his lap, unconsciously hunching over it as if afraid that it would be taken away from him "Why?"

Edward cocked his head to the side, hands smoothing over his lapels as he stood up and his mind tirelessly worked in search of a suitable answer "Isn't this what mortal enemies are for?"

 

 


End file.
